Terrarium
by Kimberly-A
Summary: Dan builds a terrarium after a difficult week, but tragedy strikes.


**Author's Note:** Thank you to my muse on Tumblr, vivianadichiara, for the germ of the idea for this fic. She's the best!

This is, of course, entirely a work of imaginative fiction and does not imply any knowledge of Dan and/or Phil in real life, including their feelings for each other, their fans, or their families.

* * *

 **Terrarium**

It had been a hard week for Dan: a tiring week, a draining week. He's the sort of person who needs a lot of down time, a lot of time to just soak in solitude and peace, and he hadn't been getting a lot of that lately.

I think he was already in a slightly fragile place because of the holidays. Gamingmas had been fun but demanding, and then he's never in the best shape emotionally after spending time with his family. I don't think they understand him very well, and they don't tend to give him much time alone, so I think it's a little overwhelming. I can understand it—they don't see him often and so they want to talk to him while they can—but it seems to usually leave him fairly drained. I think this year it was helped by the new family dog, because that's all Dan could talk about when he got home. He seemed to derive a lot of peace and relaxation from just cuddling the dog.

I wish we could get a dog. Maybe when I stop killing the houseplants and Dan starts remembering to use lip balm. Maybe when we aren't so busy. I **really** wish we could have a dog. I think it would make us both so happy. And I think it would be good for Dan.

But back to Dan's difficult week. He hadn't been back from his family visit long before he began work on his meme video, and I have to admit I didn't think that was the best idea. He was already seeming a little emotionally fragile, and now here he was actively asking his viewers to mock him. Sure, he enjoys mocking himself—making all those little sarcastic, self-deprecating comments both privately and publicly—but I know he's more sensitive than he likes to admit.

He spent five days going through the memes that viewers submitted. He just ensconced himself in his sofa crease and scrolled and scrolled. I supplied him with Ribena several times a day, but he rarely moved except to make dinner each night. I'm a hazard in the kitchen and a rubbishy cook, but Dan's pretty good at it, so he tends to cook for us more than I do. He seems to find cooking relaxing, too, so it seemed like a good counterbalance to the meme work.

During those five days, as I sat beside him on the sofa or wandered in and out of the lounge, I often heard him laughing out loud at his laptop, but just as often heard him sigh or saw his mouth turn down at the edges and his forehead wrinkle a little in that way I hate to see.

The fans' mockery of his peace signs seemed to hit him hardest. I knew he was uncomfortable having his picture taken—never feeling entirely comfortable with his physical appearance or his status as a "famous person," and I knew he felt especially awkward about his deep dimple, which he tends to turn away from the camera—and the peace sign was a way he felt like he could take control of the uncomfortable situation and turn his "fame" into something ironic, making fun of himself before anybody else could do it. But he ended up relying on it so heavily that it stopped being ironic and the fans had begun to actively make fun of him for it. I could tell he felt almost like a security blanket had been yanked away from him. What was he going to do now when fans wanted photos? I'm always fine with just smiling and hugging them, but Dan gets so awkward. I felt bad for him. Then a fan posted a photo of him on Twitter giving a thumbs up, and that was mocked as well. Dan tweeted a response asking if he should just cut his arms off and would that make everyone happy, and I knew there was more bitterness in the words than he probably would like anyone to know.

After five days of scrolling through the memes, he had chosen a few and recorded his video. He seemed exhausted afterward, not wanting to cook dinner that night, so we just phoned out for pizza. He barely spoke to me, just watching the television and eating silently. I left him to his quiet.

He spent the entire next day editing the video. He settled himself in front of the computer for a good twelve hours, and I could hear him grumbling and talking to himself while he worked. Eventually, he seemed satisfied with the result and set it to start uploading and emerged from the room like a bear leaving his cave.

It was another pizza night.

We'd gotten tickets for the Harry Potter play, and I'd hoped that would be something that would help take Dan's mind off his own issues for a while. I completely lost myself into that fictional world, but Dan seemed restless beside me. I think he was distracted by the fan who sat beside us, watching our every move and facial expression. I tried to just ignore her and enjoy the show, but Dan seemed self-conscious and uncomfortable, perhaps because he was already feeling sensitive to fans' invasiveness after dealing with the memes? At any rate, Dan didn't seem to find the entire day and evening of Potterdom as enjoyable as I did, and I wondered what I could do to help. It seemed like he was becoming more tightly wound every day.

The Sherlock finale didn't help. We were both disappointed, but when the episode was over Dan ranted to me for a solid two hours about how it had ruined the series for him. He was very worked up.

When the DIY terrarium arrived in the post, I thought it was a perfect solution. "Take some time to yourself," I suggested. I knew how much he'd been looking forward to crafting his own little world in this glass bubble, a world untouched by fans or fame or expectations. I urged him to spend some time alone in his room, not bothered by even my quiet presence, and express his creativity in this completely different way. "You've had a rough week," I acknowledged, wanting him to know that I understood. "This will do you good."

He smiled weakly and thanked me, retreating to his bedroom with the large cardboard box in which the terrarium elements had arrived. He was in there for nearly two hours, though I don't know if he spent the entire time working on his project. I didn't bother him. That is … until the crash.

It was the saddest crash I'd ever heard, because I knew immediately what it meant.

I ran to his room and stood in the doorway, seeing my friend staring in silent dejection at his bedroom floor. At his feet, a pile of sand, rocks, and shards of glass showed what had happened. He seemed frozen in disbelief and horror, but then he glanced up at me and our eyes met for a long moment. His lips twitched slightly, and I knew that meant he was seeing the humor in the situation. We both began to laugh, and if his laugh gained a hysterical quality after a while I couldn't blame him.

"Okay," I said firmly. "You're going to go play the piano or scroll through Tumblr or play something on the Wii or whatever—something totally relaxing and peaceful—and I'm going to clean up this mess."

"Phil," he sighed. "You'll cut off a hand or something, messing with all this glass."

"I'll be careful," I insisted. "I don't want you to worry about this. The point of tonight was for you to get some peace, so I want you to do that. Let me deal with this." He hesitated. "Please?" I asked, my voice soft. I knew he wouldn't be able to resist that.

"Okay," he said quietly, his head hanging low. He shuffled out of the room, his shoulders tense and his brow furrowed, but stopped in the doorway to hug me tightly a little longer than usual. He didn't hug me often, so I relished the contact and hugged him back just as tight.

He wandered off to the lounge and I painstakingly cleaned up the broken pieces of his terrarium. I saved the rocks in case he might want to do something else with them, but threw out the moss and sand and broken glass. I was careful not to cut myself, not wanting to give him something else to worry or feel bad about.

When I'd hoovered thoroughly and his bedroom floor was as clean as before the terrarium tragedy—possibly cleaner—I walked into the lounge to see him slouched on the sofa, his laptop on his knees. I glanced at the screen and saw that he was scrolling through an aesthetic blog on Tumblr.

"Are you wanting to be on your own?" I asked gently, not wanting to invade his solitude if he needed time alone, but his face when he glanced up at me was filled with a deep sadness I couldn't resist. I immediately sat beside him and pulled him into my arms. He hugged me tight again and I heard him sniff into my shoulder. I didn't let him go for a long time, feeling his back shake with his silent tears. I waited until his body was still again and then slowly released him, pulling away slightly to let him wipe the moisture from his face. I was glad he didn't look embarrassed. He could always cry in front of me—he knew I would never judge him or mock him for anything. I would always accept him, just as he is.

I had an idea. "Remember back when you were in uni, when you would come visit me in my flat?" I asked him. He looked confused for a moment, not knowing where I was going with this. He nodded. "Remember how you would sleep in my bed with me?" He smiled slightly and nodded again. With his reddened eyes, that small smile looked beautiful, like sun peeking from behind heavy clouds. "Want to come cuddle with me in my bed for a while?"

It was a risky suggestion. Cuddling wasn't something we'd done in a long time, not since the fan shipping had made such behavior seem like it meant something more serious than either of us felt comfortable contemplating, let alone initiating. But this seemed like the moment, a moment when I just wanted to hold Dan in my arms and make him feel safe and loved and accepted and understood. And maybe a moment when he would be able to accept that kind of comfort from me.

He bit his lip for a moment, and I noticed that his lips were chapped again. He doesn't take care of himself as well as he should. That's why I need to step in sometimes. He hesitated a long moment, then nodded slightly, his eyes downcast.

I didn't take his hand or anything so intimate. I just stood and turned to walk to my room, turning back once to make sure he was following, which he was, his eyes still on the floor, tears visible in them again. When I got to my room, I turned back the duvet and climbed in fully clothed, and he followed me with no further hesitation but then seemed uncertain what to do. I pulled the duvet up to cover us and then wrapped him in my arms, pulling him close to me so that his head rested on my chest near my shoulder, his forehead pressed to my chin and his short hair tickling my cheek. He wrapped an arm around my waist and scooted closer so that his body pressed against my side all the way down to our socked feet. He was warm and soft against me, and I closed my eyes to focus on the way he felt in my arms as his shoulders begin to quake slightly again and felt moisture begin to wet my t-shirt. I tightened my arms around him and let him cry as long as he needed.

Slowly, his body stilled, and I eventually realized that he had fallen into a peaceful sleep. It was early in the evening for either of us to go to bed, but nothing on earth would have persuaded me to wake him in that moment, so I just held him gently, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, and gave him some of the peace that he needed.


End file.
